Father of Ascalaphus
by turelhimvampire
Summary: Whilst Shepard conducts his suicide mission, a different tale is unfolding. Shadows lurk and enemies gather, lining up to take their shot at Cerberus' latest recruit.
1. Chapter 1

The Citadel, shining example of all the combined efforts of the species of the galaxy. A perfect utopia created to show the masses what can be achieved through peace and co-operation. An island in the vast ocean of space, a beacon of hope to the downtrodden.

What a crock of shit.

The Kithoi Ward was a perfect counter argument to the mythical reputation the Citadel Tourism Committee had crafted for itself, an oxymoron comparable to the existence of Krogan scientists. Krogan did not create, they destroyed, and the Citadel was no different. The Batarian vagrant coughing out its lungs against the wall of the shanty was testament to that, and so were the dozens of other down-and-outs milling around the crowded market, thieving, mugging, and killing each other for the paltry valuables they carried.

Passing through the crowd, almost invisibly in the rags carefully selected to fit in with the rest of the rabble, a hooded figure moved toward the ramshackle mess of flakboard and corrugated iron that passed for a bar in this section of the ward. It certainly wasn't Flux, but then this wasn't the Upper Wards.

The stench of stale sweat – mixed with whatever passed for sweat for the myriad alien species that made up the patrons of this esteemed establishment – hit the hooded figure like a wave, the scent of tripacra and tobacco smoke, along with the various alcoholic beverages on sale adding to the deluge of vile smells.

Pulling his hood tighter around his face in an ill-fated attempt to block it out, the figure glanced around the room before heading warily toward the bar. Ignoring the other patrons, he gestured to the barman and ordered himself a Elysian whiskey, the only bottle he recognised from the collection on display behind the bar.

Tossing a credit chit down onto the bar, he waited for it to be scanned and returned to him before taking up the glass and downing the amber liquid in one gulp. Dropping the glass back down onto the stained wood, he glanced sidelong at the batarian that had appeared at his arm.

"You Acheron?" The bulbous-headed alien growled, its four eyes blinking in unison.

"I am the father of Ascalaphus, yes." He replied, his gaze flicking across the figure standing beside him, gauging the batarian's body language for any sign of impending violence. If the alien decided to attack him, it would be dead before it realised its own mistake.

"Don't get many humans around this part." The batarian commented and turned to walk away, gesturing with its head for him to follow.

Acheron nodded to the barman, who was silently observing the pair from his refuge behind the bar, silently praying they would not be any trouble, before heading after his escort. Reaching what passed for a private suite at the back of the bar, the batarian turned back to face him, guarding the doorway with another of its kind.

"You were late, and the ambassador hates to be kept waiting." It said by way of a farewell, opening the door to allow him to enter.

No sooner had he crossed the threshold than he found himself facing down the barrel of a stolen HSA assault rifle. Acheron took note of the military tech in the hands of his contact, filing the information away for future use.

"Put down the weapon and let the Earth-clan through." A rasping voice sounded from the darkness behind the krogan wielding the rifle. Reluctantly the mountain of flesh and scales lowered the weapon and stepped aside, allowing Acheron to pass.

"Kohna Vol, I presume?" Acheron said, taking a seat opposite the diminutive volus, lounging back on the leather recliner and showing his host and the krogan bodyguard that he considered neither of them a threat to his continued wellbeing. Vol visually bristled at his actions, clearly intimidated by his nonchalant disregard for the nine foot behemoth standing beside him. The volus were pacifistic by nature, preferring to hire others to fight their battles for them, and Vol had hired the biggest, nastiest krogan mercenary he could find. That Acheron was not threatened by the presence of the scaled brute spoke volumes to the volus ambassador, and he was quite correct to be afraid.

"I am Ambassador Vol, yes. You wish to enter into a business arrangement with me, Earth-clan?" Vol said, regaining some of his compose now they were entering a field in which he had considerable control. It always amazed Acheron just how much control bureaucrats like Vol thought they had when dealing with killers and soldiers like him, when in reality they had none at all. Still, whatever greased the wheels of their little enterprise could never be a bad thing, so he let the volus keep his little fairy tale intact for the moment.

"That we do. Before we go into detail, a measure of trust must be earned. Ascalaphus never commit to a contract without knowing that the information and resources provided in our dealings are accurate and without personal bias." Acheron said, reaching into his robes and retrieving a gilt silver case from a pocket hidden within. The volus tensed at the sight of the object, the krogan raising his rifle to point the weapon at Acheron's head.

"Relax, I just want a smoke." He said, opening the case and removing a thick brown cigar and a book of matches. Returning the case to his robes, Acheron clenched the cigar between his teeth and struck a match against the table edge. Lighting the cigar he took a drag, savouring the woody flavour for a long moment before blowing smoke at the krogan whose rifle was still trained on Acheron's head.

"We'll start small," he continued, turning his attention back to the volus ambassador. "First, you help us run a small operation, just to test the waters – as it were. Once we have a rapport, once we trust you, then more lucrative business will come your way. First impressions are so important, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed, Earth-clan, the syndicate I represent would have it no other way. Now, let us discuss the nature of this contract..." Vol replied, rubbing his gloved hands together as the prospect of an exchange of currency came about.

"I have the details right here on this chit." Acheron nodded, placing a data chit on the table and carefully pushing it toward the eager alien. "Once you have cleared it in your data pad we can begin."


	2. Chapter 2

Six weeks later...

Just a simple job. In and out, quick and easy. Break in through the roof, down into the restricted archive, download the data and out through the sewers. It looked like easy money, and the volus was paying in information. For six weeks Acheron and Vol to get the measure of each other, the volus providing information in exchange for simple jobs.

Only this time not so simple. Acheron ducked back into the doorway as rifle fire scored the doorframe, plastec and fibre-crete chips pattering against his armour like hailstones. Ascalaphus was up to its neck in yahg shit, and Acheron did not wish to bury any of his children this day.

Acheron dived out from the doorway, his silenced Model 12 Locust spraying rounds in the direction of their attackers as he ended his dive in a roll behind a blocky data access hub. He hissed out an insult questioning the lineage of their attackers, and popped the thermal clip from his sub machine gun before slamming another home. He felt a heavy impact vibrate the frame of the hub, and glanced over his shoulder to see Hyperion beside him, readying a demo charge.

"You really think that's a good idea, Hype'?" Acheron asked, a feral grin on his face showing his fellow that the question was rhetorical.

"I guess we'll find out." Hyperion said, his voice thick with an eastern-European accent. Red, close cropped hair was barely visible under the black woolen hat he was wearing, and a week s worth of stubble growth gracing a squared, heavy scarred jaw. Hyperion's silver eyes glowed blue from the sub-corneal implants which gifted him with a substantially increased dark vision, but Acheron could still make out the mischievous glimmer as his demolitions expert spoke.

Nodding to Hyperion, Acheron swung his body up and out of cover, spraying fire from his Locust wildly at the security response team - mercenaries by the looks of their gear - firing at them from across the primary archive hall. He hope the data stored here was backed up, or else the Citadel Council records would be suffering from some considerable data gaps come the morning.

The mercenaries ducked back down into cover as the rounds zipped past all around them. That was all the opportunity Hyperion needed, and he rolled out of cover and broke into a run, the now armed demolition charge beeping away in his armoured hand. He sprinted toward the mercenary position, and hurled the explosive high into the air, the heavy charge arching down and detonating just above the mercenaries. The flash was almost blinding, and Acheron had to turn his head away to protect himself from compromising his eyesight.

His gazed turned aside, he felt a gust of air on his face and a shadow crossed his field of vision so fast he barely registered it. Tartarus was charging.

The woman was a prodigiously powerful biotic vanguard, and was in amongst the mercenaries before the cloud of the explosion had dissipated, the smoke forming a spiral as she passed through it at incredible speed. Then came the loud thump of a biotic barrier slamming into an armoured body, and a painful - if short - cry of surprise. Gunfire lit the smoke cloud, and more screams came from the mercs, most of them silenced mere seconds later as Tartarus went about her fatal dance.

When the smoke cleared the woman stood amidst a crowd of corpses, a lone surviving mercenary attempting to crawl away. Tartarus was on him a moment later, using her armoured boots to roll the dying man onto his back. Acheron knew what was coming next, having seen it so many times before. Tartarus channeled her biotic abilities into her foot and stamped down on the man s face with the force of a speeding train. All that remained of the mercenary s cranium was a small crater filled with blood and grey matter.

It still awed him how intensely violent she was.

"Time to go." Another voice called out, and Acheron turned to follow after the speaker, a short, hairless man with vivid blue tattoos covering his ivory skin. Clad in a light, sleeveless tactical vest and baggy black fatigues, he shunned the armour of his colleagues for the speed and flexibility his choice in clothing granted him. The long, wicked asari blade sheathed on his forearm - a shamshir shikargar as it was known on the black market - was his only visible weapon.

"Then lead on, Erebos." Acheron said, the four man team moving as one through the darkened archive building.


End file.
